I'm just back from Spring Break a couple of weeks, and am realizing daily that my students have finished their school year already. Yes they are coming to class (most of the time), but only to ask if they can get out to do something for another teacher (so they say), or many other sorted and various reasons. The truth is, they are only here for the social ending of another year gone by. I know this, just as all teachers know it, and all of us who have ever been students know it. When the kids are done with school, it is like pulling teeth to get any kind of quality work out of them at all.
I used to put my musical at the end of the school year, which gave several kids a more majestic goal at this time of craziness, but fitting that in with the rest of the end of year activities, of which there are many, is cause for insanity in the most well put-together and organized. Think what it does to someone like me.
I have tried to save a huge and creative project for the end, but that only leads to dissapointment, because they just don't put forth the effort, and "dang it, that was a really great assignment! Why don't they just try a little?"
I've watched as the most studious of my butterflies put forth the effort of someone half as talented, and smile brightly as if they accomplished feats as important as brain surgery.
The fact is, they are done, and we as teachers, are just not! We can't be! We are to teach to the last bell on the last day! "How can this be fixed?" I ask you. I mean, I've thought for years that I had the answer, and each time I come up with something spectacular and new for the classes to do, thinking I've finally done it - I've created the perfect assignment that any student would just love to do, I am always, 100%, without fail, heartbroken by the feeble attempts of the majority. Oh, of course, there are always those students who just "do" school, who do everything right, and are over-the-top, but I'm talking about those good solid, "in-the-middle" kids who usually do what they are supposed to do. No, those kids, who I can depend on to be there, or sweep and mop, or work the snow-cone stand, or just do the assignments they are asked - those kids, have gone nutso crazy. Worse yet are the ones who never do what they're asked, and spend more time thinking up excuses than they would have if they'd have just done the work in the first place. This time of year with them is, well, exciting, to say the least.
It is an age-old question that has plagued many an educator along the way, I'm sure. At this point of the year, I'm just happy they haven't burned down the school, and hopefully we can make it 5 more weeks without that. At the same time, I'm perplexed by the fact that any kid would spend so much time trying to get out of doing my awesome and cool assignments... I mean - really?!?
Maybe that's it. No assignment, really, is awesome or cool. Even when I think about the fact that I have to do my lesson plans, I can come up with fifty different reasons why I can wait, and when there is laundry to be done, well, I just have way too many more important things happening. And, oh yeah, grading all those awesome and cool assignments... well that's another issue altogether.
It is truthfully very easy to see why at this time the kids just aren't engaged in their education, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, those incredible tiny purple flowers that pop out with the ground-cover weeds have arrived, there are track meets, golf-tournaments, cheer competitions, assemblies, softball and baseball tournaments, student council conventions, book fairs, midevil fairs, field trips, fun Fridays, snow cones to buy and sell, proms, dances, etc. And that is all in the next two weeks. Whatever will we do with the last three?
Ahhhhhh. Perhaps the most comical part of all of it is the fact that a theatrical make-up wearing rocker from the seventies with a lady's first name said it best for all of us - School's Out For Summer - Thank you Alice Cooper, for such a poetic and musical tribute to that time of year that sadly, people in my business and our many many clients look forward to the most.
Just kidding - I really love my job. I only catch myself questioning my career choice once a week, and the truth is, I love the little butterflies with all my heart. How could it be any better - I get to be mother to the most talented, creative, fantastic, ornery, crazy, out of sight kids ever! Teaching - even with the heartbreaks now and then - is the best job in the world!
Now, off to think of the greatest assignment ever for next week, I just know all the kids are gonna love this...... : )
Sweet Brenda
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
The Secret of the Cinnamon Roll and other stories of sweet things
I'm reminded today of the special people I have in my life, as I finish off a pan of the most perfect Cinnamon rolls ever, for a late breakfast. My friend Tonia, who I met with her husband Steve at the place where I was a featured singer for the past 12 years, made them for us along with some fantastic salsa and brought them to us on St. Patty's Day. They started coming out to hear me about 4 or 5 years ago all the way from Hugo Oklahoma, which is located in the very Southeastern part of the state, one hour East of Durant and 15 miles North of the TX border.
Every time they came in to see me, they brought different groups of people, and it was obvious quite early in our friendship that they were the kind of people who attracted quality relationships with quality people, who were dedicated to them in the most respectful and loving way. As the years went by and we became more acquainted on facebook and in their visits to "the city", our relationship grew to the height of closeness.
Tonia and Steve are friends to the end, but today's story is focused on the Cinnamon Roll. Through the years I have become quite an expert on this tasty treat, growing up in a family that takes cooking to levels that would make Paula Dean envious. My Nana, Aunt Francis, Aunt Barbara, Aunt Linda, Uncle Mike, Aunt Marty and Uncle Pat, Aunt Jean, My brother, and my parents all in their own rights are the greatest cooks, bakers, and chefs I've ever come to know, and people believe me when I tell you I have eaten more than my fair share of good food and places tauted as the finest. My first memory of watching Cinnamon rolls being made was by my dad, who had perfected the art of making homemade rolls and bread by watching the little old cafeteria ladies in Gage, OK where he was the Superintendent of schools. He took their very large recipe for hundreds of rolls, and whittled it down to family size with some sort of scientific formula, and lots of trial but hardly any error. He made the dough, let it rise gingerly, spread it out on the counter, and he and my mother spread brown sugar, white sugar, Cinnamon, and pats of butter all over the flattened dough. They rolled it up together with butter on their fingers and then proceeded to do one of the most creative things I had seen in the kitchen by the age of 9. They took a piece of baby blue thread from my 4-H sewing kit, slid it under the roll about an inch and a half, pulled the ends across as if to tie a knot but instead kept pulling so that the thread cut right through the dough. Now to those of you seasoned bakers, this is elementary, but at that time, it was total magic to me, and I think it was that day that I realized just exactly how intelligent the group of people who were raising me were. Give me a break, I was only 9. There would be many more magical and far more intelligent experiences I would have through the future years, but that is for another day.
The smell of those Cinnamon rolls in the oven that day is one I will never forget, and I'm reminded of that funky little kitchen in Gage every time I smell the school's cinnamon rolls at the school where I work. The white icing that my mom mixed up in a green Tupperware bowl and spooned over the hot twisty sugary filled layers of perfection melted into the cracks like ice cream dripped on a hot Gage, OK sidewalk. The first bite filled my entire mouth with a taste, warmth, and feeling that can only be described with one word - "Home." I've been an addict ever since.
Through our years traveling from small school to small school, some of the best we ever experienced as a family were in the Fargo, OK basketball concession stand. That's right folks, you could go to the concession stand at the Fargo tournament, and come out with a styrofoam plate full of one of the greatest feats of baking perfection, covered in the sweetest caramel icing ever. Fargo had the market cornered on Cinnamon Rolls, Gage had the best hot ham and cheese sandwiches and bierox known to man, but that is for another day, as well.
In college, Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, OK, my friends and I would venture South of the campus onto Kickapoo Spur, to the Rainbow Inn, where all kinds of treasures to delight the tastes of poor college kids and late night bar-goers could be found. The item on the menu, besides the toast made out of homemade bread, that we all craved and could share between four of us, was the "cinnamon roll, that was bigger than your head." The waitress would load it up with pats of butter on the top, and reheat it while smoking a cigarette, and bring it to us with 4 forks. It was a mountain of sugary goodness that took us all home for just a little while and gave us a good distraction from the studying we were supposed to be doing. I'm proud to say that I've introduced that restaurant to several of my musician friends who played with me at Dietrich's, next door to the Rainbow and coincidentally the place where I met my husband Jon, and most of us have shared a cinnamon roll or two. It was also the place where I was sharing a cinnamon roll with my friend Katie and two of our other friends came in and announced that they had just eloped. There are many more stories like this, I'm sure, but sadly the Rainbow Inn is closed.
Today, I've come to be very pleasantly surprised on the days that the cafeteria at my school has Frito chili pies or taco salad, because that is also the day that they make cinnamon rolls. The fabulous smell of "home" can be taken in all over our campus. For my friends from the past, it might surprise you that my fascination with food has led to quite a gain of weight through the years, so those of you who remember the almost anorexic Brenda, not a chance these days. It might also surprise you all to know that I have a special way of picking out the best cinnamon rolls at school. You look for the ones with the highest number of twists, the most evenly spread layers, and look the brownest on top (with innards, not from baking too long). Thin, consistent and numerous twists means that you will have more of the sugary insides to get to, and brown on the top from innards, means there are more sugary insides as well. There is also a way to eat it correctly. You must eat a cinnamon roll all the way around. You can't bite through several layers at once, because that will cause the whole thing to fall apart, and you might get to the best part too quickly. No, I say eat it all the way around and soon you will find the best treasure of the entire experience, the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful.
The cinnamon rolls we received from Tonia and Steve, back to the original inspiration for this story, were those of perfection. They came complete with just the right amount of twists, turned consistently around the gooey centers of love. The perfect size, so that you could have two (or three) and not feel totally piggy. The taste and smell of "Home," underneath a foil covering in a small round pie pan. The taste that for me brings back memories of close and comfortable family gatherings, and great times with close friends that I'm so happy to have had or still have in my life consistently. Much like a good friendship - there are twists and turns, but lots of comfort, leading to the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful - the heart of our family members and friends.
Thanks Tonia, and all the other wonderful bakers in my life who have provided such fabulous feelings of warmth and comfort, and thanks to all those friends out there who have been around for all the twists and turns, but have remained to show me their true hearts.
Life is like a cinnamon roll, Forest - now we're both gonna have to do some running to work this fattening stuff off.
Sweet Brenda
Every time they came in to see me, they brought different groups of people, and it was obvious quite early in our friendship that they were the kind of people who attracted quality relationships with quality people, who were dedicated to them in the most respectful and loving way. As the years went by and we became more acquainted on facebook and in their visits to "the city", our relationship grew to the height of closeness.
Tonia and Steve are friends to the end, but today's story is focused on the Cinnamon Roll. Through the years I have become quite an expert on this tasty treat, growing up in a family that takes cooking to levels that would make Paula Dean envious. My Nana, Aunt Francis, Aunt Barbara, Aunt Linda, Uncle Mike, Aunt Marty and Uncle Pat, Aunt Jean, My brother, and my parents all in their own rights are the greatest cooks, bakers, and chefs I've ever come to know, and people believe me when I tell you I have eaten more than my fair share of good food and places tauted as the finest. My first memory of watching Cinnamon rolls being made was by my dad, who had perfected the art of making homemade rolls and bread by watching the little old cafeteria ladies in Gage, OK where he was the Superintendent of schools. He took their very large recipe for hundreds of rolls, and whittled it down to family size with some sort of scientific formula, and lots of trial but hardly any error. He made the dough, let it rise gingerly, spread it out on the counter, and he and my mother spread brown sugar, white sugar, Cinnamon, and pats of butter all over the flattened dough. They rolled it up together with butter on their fingers and then proceeded to do one of the most creative things I had seen in the kitchen by the age of 9. They took a piece of baby blue thread from my 4-H sewing kit, slid it under the roll about an inch and a half, pulled the ends across as if to tie a knot but instead kept pulling so that the thread cut right through the dough. Now to those of you seasoned bakers, this is elementary, but at that time, it was total magic to me, and I think it was that day that I realized just exactly how intelligent the group of people who were raising me were. Give me a break, I was only 9. There would be many more magical and far more intelligent experiences I would have through the future years, but that is for another day.
The smell of those Cinnamon rolls in the oven that day is one I will never forget, and I'm reminded of that funky little kitchen in Gage every time I smell the school's cinnamon rolls at the school where I work. The white icing that my mom mixed up in a green Tupperware bowl and spooned over the hot twisty sugary filled layers of perfection melted into the cracks like ice cream dripped on a hot Gage, OK sidewalk. The first bite filled my entire mouth with a taste, warmth, and feeling that can only be described with one word - "Home." I've been an addict ever since.
Through our years traveling from small school to small school, some of the best we ever experienced as a family were in the Fargo, OK basketball concession stand. That's right folks, you could go to the concession stand at the Fargo tournament, and come out with a styrofoam plate full of one of the greatest feats of baking perfection, covered in the sweetest caramel icing ever. Fargo had the market cornered on Cinnamon Rolls, Gage had the best hot ham and cheese sandwiches and bierox known to man, but that is for another day, as well.
In college, Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, OK, my friends and I would venture South of the campus onto Kickapoo Spur, to the Rainbow Inn, where all kinds of treasures to delight the tastes of poor college kids and late night bar-goers could be found. The item on the menu, besides the toast made out of homemade bread, that we all craved and could share between four of us, was the "cinnamon roll, that was bigger than your head." The waitress would load it up with pats of butter on the top, and reheat it while smoking a cigarette, and bring it to us with 4 forks. It was a mountain of sugary goodness that took us all home for just a little while and gave us a good distraction from the studying we were supposed to be doing. I'm proud to say that I've introduced that restaurant to several of my musician friends who played with me at Dietrich's, next door to the Rainbow and coincidentally the place where I met my husband Jon, and most of us have shared a cinnamon roll or two. It was also the place where I was sharing a cinnamon roll with my friend Katie and two of our other friends came in and announced that they had just eloped. There are many more stories like this, I'm sure, but sadly the Rainbow Inn is closed.
Today, I've come to be very pleasantly surprised on the days that the cafeteria at my school has Frito chili pies or taco salad, because that is also the day that they make cinnamon rolls. The fabulous smell of "home" can be taken in all over our campus. For my friends from the past, it might surprise you that my fascination with food has led to quite a gain of weight through the years, so those of you who remember the almost anorexic Brenda, not a chance these days. It might also surprise you all to know that I have a special way of picking out the best cinnamon rolls at school. You look for the ones with the highest number of twists, the most evenly spread layers, and look the brownest on top (with innards, not from baking too long). Thin, consistent and numerous twists means that you will have more of the sugary insides to get to, and brown on the top from innards, means there are more sugary insides as well. There is also a way to eat it correctly. You must eat a cinnamon roll all the way around. You can't bite through several layers at once, because that will cause the whole thing to fall apart, and you might get to the best part too quickly. No, I say eat it all the way around and soon you will find the best treasure of the entire experience, the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful.
The cinnamon rolls we received from Tonia and Steve, back to the original inspiration for this story, were those of perfection. They came complete with just the right amount of twists, turned consistently around the gooey centers of love. The perfect size, so that you could have two (or three) and not feel totally piggy. The taste and smell of "Home," underneath a foil covering in a small round pie pan. The taste that for me brings back memories of close and comfortable family gatherings, and great times with close friends that I'm so happy to have had or still have in my life consistently. Much like a good friendship - there are twists and turns, but lots of comfort, leading to the sweet, moist center - the epicenter of all that is good and wonderful - the heart of our family members and friends.
Thanks Tonia, and all the other wonderful bakers in my life who have provided such fabulous feelings of warmth and comfort, and thanks to all those friends out there who have been around for all the twists and turns, but have remained to show me their true hearts.
Life is like a cinnamon roll, Forest - now we're both gonna have to do some running to work this fattening stuff off.
Sweet Brenda
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Tears on St. Patty's Day and other random kid stories
This is my first time to ever "blog." That being the case, I'm sure that holding a crying baby, managing a broken laptop, and eating lunch are not activities that will lend to anything legible or entertaining, but here goes...
My Meadow was born 13 and 1/2 months ago, and yet I still find myself waking up some mornings and saying "oh yeah, we have a baby." This sounds horrible, I know, but you have to understand, I'm 40 and my last child was born 12 years ago. Jon and I have been married for 6 years and both brought children from previous marriages into our new world. We always talked about how great it would be to have kids together, but then realizing how we were both pushing half a century, we would just laugh about it. Even after talking about it, our reaction when I turned up prego summer before last, was one of complete and utter shock. We had both planned our retirement and have been counting down the years to get our son through high school and started in college so that we could start traveling from Blues Festival to Blues Festival, and all the other fabulous dreams that future retirees talk about. The reality is, I'm still about 20 years from teacher retirement, and Jon is self-employed which allows for freedom, but doesn't always allow for any kind of savings. Somehow, it just sounds better to say that our new precious addition is a blessing from God and a message that we need to slow down a bit, and that is the complete truth.
Today she sits beside me crying crocodile tears and screaming and kicking her feet because I won't share my lunch with her.(She definitely takes after her mother when it comes to appetite.) Not because I'm mean and stingy, but because we think she has a milk alergy, and I'm eating alfredo noodles, which are totally not on my diet, but might add some excitement to my 15 year old daughter's babysitting experience this afternoon. I'm waiting on my friend Terry to come pick me up for St. Patty's day stuff, and I had to call her and tell her to come later because my oldest daughter Harlee has not retuned from a sleepover yet, and I had forgotten that I can't get in the shower without someone to watch the baby. So many things to remember...
As Harlee came in today she said, "a whole week at Spring Break is just pointless, I wish we were in school." That makes my heart smile, but I also know that part of that is because she hasn't been able to see her new boyfriend since Saturday. She is awesome and too smart for her own good and is a total pleaser just like her step sister/my step daughter Brooke who is only 1 mos. older than Harlee, and they are both about 5 mos. from driving by themselves. (This thought sends terror and tears to both Jon and I)
Brandt my son, is beyond creative and has an arsenal of life sized guns made of paper - but that is another story altogether. He is with his dad for spring break, and was supposed to call me everyday starting with Saturday night - not one call yet. Mom tears for sure.
St. Patty's day is always bitter/sweet. Mar. 17th was my Nana's birthday. If she was still alive today she would be 110. I sang a song called "Don't Cry for Me," at her funeral. My Aunt Barb said, tears rolling down her cheeks "Great song sweetie, but it didn't work." It's been 14 years since she died, and there isn't a day that goes by, especially St. Patty's day, that I don't think about what a wise, upstanding, talented, creative, and integrity filled woman she was. I suppose I could have done my first blog dedicated completely to her and her nana-ism's, which were life lessons and sayings that she was famous for, but I will have to do that when I have more time to devote. It is too important of a subject for me to shoot through quickly.
Off to tan and shower and head down to main street for St. Patty's day activities, and will be meeting my fab husband and some very close friends a little later. Not the most exciting life, but we're living it to the fullest every day. And that thought often brings tears of joy.
Lot's of tears - that and the hot flashes make think I might be slipping quietly into menopause. Menopause and a baby - what a combination.
The luck of the Irish to ya today me lads and lassies!
Sweet Brenda
My Meadow was born 13 and 1/2 months ago, and yet I still find myself waking up some mornings and saying "oh yeah, we have a baby." This sounds horrible, I know, but you have to understand, I'm 40 and my last child was born 12 years ago. Jon and I have been married for 6 years and both brought children from previous marriages into our new world. We always talked about how great it would be to have kids together, but then realizing how we were both pushing half a century, we would just laugh about it. Even after talking about it, our reaction when I turned up prego summer before last, was one of complete and utter shock. We had both planned our retirement and have been counting down the years to get our son through high school and started in college so that we could start traveling from Blues Festival to Blues Festival, and all the other fabulous dreams that future retirees talk about. The reality is, I'm still about 20 years from teacher retirement, and Jon is self-employed which allows for freedom, but doesn't always allow for any kind of savings. Somehow, it just sounds better to say that our new precious addition is a blessing from God and a message that we need to slow down a bit, and that is the complete truth.
Today she sits beside me crying crocodile tears and screaming and kicking her feet because I won't share my lunch with her.(She definitely takes after her mother when it comes to appetite.) Not because I'm mean and stingy, but because we think she has a milk alergy, and I'm eating alfredo noodles, which are totally not on my diet, but might add some excitement to my 15 year old daughter's babysitting experience this afternoon. I'm waiting on my friend Terry to come pick me up for St. Patty's day stuff, and I had to call her and tell her to come later because my oldest daughter Harlee has not retuned from a sleepover yet, and I had forgotten that I can't get in the shower without someone to watch the baby. So many things to remember...
As Harlee came in today she said, "a whole week at Spring Break is just pointless, I wish we were in school." That makes my heart smile, but I also know that part of that is because she hasn't been able to see her new boyfriend since Saturday. She is awesome and too smart for her own good and is a total pleaser just like her step sister/my step daughter Brooke who is only 1 mos. older than Harlee, and they are both about 5 mos. from driving by themselves. (This thought sends terror and tears to both Jon and I)
Brandt my son, is beyond creative and has an arsenal of life sized guns made of paper - but that is another story altogether. He is with his dad for spring break, and was supposed to call me everyday starting with Saturday night - not one call yet. Mom tears for sure.
St. Patty's day is always bitter/sweet. Mar. 17th was my Nana's birthday. If she was still alive today she would be 110. I sang a song called "Don't Cry for Me," at her funeral. My Aunt Barb said, tears rolling down her cheeks "Great song sweetie, but it didn't work." It's been 14 years since she died, and there isn't a day that goes by, especially St. Patty's day, that I don't think about what a wise, upstanding, talented, creative, and integrity filled woman she was. I suppose I could have done my first blog dedicated completely to her and her nana-ism's, which were life lessons and sayings that she was famous for, but I will have to do that when I have more time to devote. It is too important of a subject for me to shoot through quickly.
Off to tan and shower and head down to main street for St. Patty's day activities, and will be meeting my fab husband and some very close friends a little later. Not the most exciting life, but we're living it to the fullest every day. And that thought often brings tears of joy.
Lot's of tears - that and the hot flashes make think I might be slipping quietly into menopause. Menopause and a baby - what a combination.
The luck of the Irish to ya today me lads and lassies!
Sweet Brenda
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)